Friday
by somethingsdont
Summary: EC. Part 2 of 3. “Memory... is the diary that we all carry about with us.” —Oscar Wilde


A/N: I've decided to turn my one-shot _Someday_ into a short series (so yes, knowledge of that is necessary here). This is the second of three parts. Enjoy!

* * *

Eric stood in front of a door, and according to Calleigh, it was the door to his apartment, but to him, he saw only an unfamiliar wooden door in an unfamiliar hallway in an unfamiliar building. He didn't remember ever being here; how could he possibly live here? He frowned and looked down at the key in his hand, but he couldn't bring himself to unlock and open the door. Something felt off, wrong, and no matter how hard he tried to dismiss the feeling, if only for Calleigh's sake, he couldn't.

He turned to the small blonde beside him. "I don't live here," he protested.

Calleigh touched his arm lightly and nodded, her heart slowly breaking for him. "Yes you do," she said quietly.

"No, Calleigh," he insisted, suddenly sounding a little panicked. He held out his key and shook his head. "I don't live here."

She hesitated, unsure of how to handle the situation, unsure of anything that had happened in the past two weeks and fearing events that hadn't happened yet, fearing the future like she'd never feared anything before. She knew he needed her; she was too proud to admit that maybe it was her who needed him more.

"How about," she said, gauging his reaction, "I'll open the door, but you have to take a peek inside?"

He pursed his lips and seemed to consider that for a moment. Wordlessly, he handed over the key and watched as she slipped it into the lock and pushed open the door. He took a look inside but quickly turned back to Calleigh, appearing ready to object again, but she was ready.

"Come on," she urged, taking his hand in hers and squeezing gently.

She stepped inside and he followed tentatively behind. She felt his grip on her hand tighten. She closed the door and waited for him to take in his surroundings. He looked lost and defeated, scared, and she wanted nothing more than to take it all away.

"Eric?"

"I—" He swallowed and brought his hand up to rub his eyes. "I can't live here. This isn't—" He laughed, and she could see the frustration taking over. "This isn't my home."

She nodded slowly and ran her hand up and down his arm in what she hoped was a soothing gesture. "How about this? We'll get some of your stuff and you can come stay with me for a while," she suggested, knowing he didn't remember or know just how much it took for her to offer anybody that. For him, she'd offer it all if it meant she could give him his memory back. It hurt to know that she couldn't.

At her words, she felt his fingers twitch, felt the sudden anger heat up his skin. "I don't need to be babysat," he snapped.

She suppressed her own frustration, because she knew he didn't need that from her right now. She waited a moment for him to cool down and gave his hand a squeeze. "I know, but you signed the papers," she reminded him firmly, "so you know that your release is conditional on at least part-time supervision." Her voice softened. "It doesn't have to be me, but I hope you'll let me do this for you."

He sighed and leaned into her apologetically. "I know you're just trying to help," he murmured, feeling irrational and guilty. "I'm sorry."

She offered him an encouraging smile. "If you decide to stay here, I'm taking your couch," she said, her tone leaving no room for debate.

From where he stood, he eyed his couch carefully. He couldn't figure out how clean or comfortable it was, but he certainly didn't think it was fit for her to sleep in. He turned to her and frowned. "I couldn't make you sleep on that thing."

"I have a spare room," she hinted.

He hesitated. "Don't you have work tomorrow or something?" he asked, knowing she'd already given up the equivalent of nearly two weeks of work just to be able to stay with him at the hospital. He didn't want to be a burden, and he knew he would be. It wouldn't be fair to impose the responsibility on her.

She smiled. "It's Friday."

He knew that wasn't really a reason, that Monday would come, and Tuesday after that, but he didn't say anything.

"Come stay with me," she persisted.

He considered it for a moment, appraising the apartment in front of him and not liking how foreign it looked, how uninviting it felt. He was a stranger here, and he had the nagging feeling that the real owner of the apartment would walk in any moment and ask what the two of them were doing there. At that thought, he looked nervously at the door.

"I promise you this place belongs to you," Calleigh said gently, almost as if reading his thoughts.

"I know." He ran his thumb over her hand, then, "I wanna take a look around."

She looked down at their hands, fingers still intertwined. His hand was clammy but she didn't care. "Do you want me to—"

"Yeah."

She led him around his apartment, showing him things he should've recognized, teaching him how to work machines that he should've known how to use, and he seemed to relax a little. He tensed up again when he reached his writing desk and saw photographs propped up in a neat row on the far end. He picked one up. Marisol. Just as he remembered her, just as how he'd have to remember her for the rest of his life. The thought hit him hard and he had to close his eyes to keep his head from spinning. He placed the frame back down and pressed his free hand against the desk to steady himself.

Calleigh's concerned voice came up beside him. "Eric…"

He straightened up and glanced quickly at the photo again. "I just can't believe she's gone," he muttered with a bitter chuckle, drawing Calleigh close for strength he didn't know he needed until he felt it there, overpowering yet gentle, emanating brightly from her. It was unassuming and generous, but he knew his injury was destroying her, too, and he wished he could offer her half of what she was offering him in that moment. He got the feeling that she'd helped him through Marisol's death the first time around as well.

Calleigh rested her cheek against his chest, her heart aching for him. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, thinking how unfair it was that he had to go through this again.

He held her for a moment longer than absolutely necessary, wondering if she knew how perfectly she fit into his arms. He felt something grow there, something that he imagined had always existed between them but that he couldn't remember. Maybe that was why she had been so devastated when she found out about his memory loss. Maybe they had been close to something more. It certainly felt like it to him.

"I don't want to stay here tonight," he finally admitted.

She pressed her face against his chest and breathed in. She knew she would've never allowed him to be this close to her before. Physically, at least, because she couldn't ignore how impossible it always seemed to be to avoid emotional intimacy. His scent began to overwhelm her, and she pulled away.

She smiled. "Okay, let's go find your suitcase."

o o o

Eric couldn't sleep. He was lying in Calleigh's guest room, staring up at the ceiling, and the silence was causing his mind to go into overdrive. His thoughts were beginning to consume him, and fear slowly but surely seeped into his chest, leaving him in a cold sweat. Despite the warm Miami weather, he shivered under the sheets.

His thoughts wandered to Calleigh, how she'd invited him into her home, fed him and made sure he was comfortable. Though she'd initially tried to downplay their relationship, he could now see that it was nothing more than a defense mechanism. He only wished he remembered the details. He could see how much she wished the same thing. He had seen the flicker in her eyes that betrayed her vulnerability, and he knew how much this was hurting her. It killed him that he was the cause and he couldn't do a damn thing about it.

In the two weeks he'd spent in the hospital since regaining consciousness, he'd grown to really appreciate her presence. She'd been there for him, physically, emotionally, and she didn't have to tell him how close they'd been to know it. She'd stayed at the hospital at all hours of the day and night. She'd taken care of him, helped him with tasks that he didn't seem to know how to handle anymore, and most importantly, she was always patient when she explained something to him, even if it seemed trivial. He didn't know what he'd done right in the past eight years to earn her friendship, but it seemed like outside his family, she was one of the few people he could still count on.

He sat up in bed, unable to bear it anymore, and the sudden movement made his head spin. He pressed his palms against his temples, wishing his head would stop pounding. He needed noise, distraction, anything to keep him busy now that Calleigh was asleep.

Suddenly, he heard someone shuffling in the doorway and was surprised to see Calleigh's silhouette leaning against the doorframe.

"I knew you'd still be awake," she whispered into the air as she approached him.

"Slept for two weeks at the hospital," he replied with a lopsided smile that he wasn't sure she could see in the darkness.

She sat down at the edge of the bed and briefly touched his cheek. "Are you feeling okay?"

Her fingers were icy cold; he shivered. He took her hands into his and rubbed them together to warm them. "Yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry."

She looked down and watched him slowly move her hands against each other. "You can tell me," she urged quietly.

He sighed and released her hands, feeling exposed even though he hadn't said anything yet. He shifted uncomfortably against the sheets.

She smiled sympathetically, figuring he no longer trusted her like he used to, or more specifically, he didn't remember the trust, didn't feel it deep in his chest anymore. "Try to get some rest," she said stiffly, making a move to leave.

"Calleigh, wait, I—" He swallowed, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. "Can you stay with me for a while?" he asked, feeling pathetic and selfish but knowing that he needed to talk to someone before he grew insane from the jumbled thoughts on his mind.

She hesitated. She didn't know how much longer she could stay there when her chest seemed to gradually continue to tighten, but she caught his eye for a brief moment, and even in the darkness, she saw the desperation there, saw the panic. She placed her hand on his shoulder and gave a gentle push.

"Lie down," she requested.

He did as he was told and waited. She seemed to hesitate again, looked toward the door nervously, and he immediately regretted asking her to stay when it became obvious to him that she wanted to bolt.

"Never mind," he murmured, finding her hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. "Go back to bed."

Without another word, she slipped under the covers and lay on her side, facing him. She wondered if he knew what this meant to her, what _he_ meant to her, and she felt the guilt suffocating her again. She took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on something else, but she couldn't drive him out of her head long enough to do much of anything. She heard her own heart pounding, pounding, and until that moment, she hadn't realize how deep her feelings for this man truly ran. Now, lying next to him and feeling compelled to move closer, she finally understood the depth of it all, understood something unconditional and raw. The situation was so twisted and impossibly out of her control, and she couldn't handle that. She closed her eyes but his scent only seemed to grow stronger, his movements more perceptible, his breathing more shallow, and she had to open them again. She found him staring back at her, piercing, questioning. She sensed confusion and relief and a little tinge of something else.

Eric had initially been taken aback by her gesture, but as it set in, he'd discovered there were more pressing issues at hand, like Calleigh's hand shaking slightly in his, like her eyes kaleidescoping from one emotion to the next, like how much he wanted to pull her close and keep her there forever. He didn't understand it, the sudden emotions coursing through him, but he had a feeling they were pre-existing. She was beautiful, of course, but he didn't remember ever feeling anything this strong and real for anyone. He knew none of it had appeared purely out of physical attraction.

He shifted closer and took it as a positive sign when she didn't make any attempts to move away. He felt the greatest urge to hold her, just hold her, because she seemed to need it as much as he did. His hands found her waist; he felt her tense beneath his touch, but he slid his hands to her back and pulled her gently toward him. She didn't struggle against him, only allowed him to accomplish what she didn't have the courage to do. She sighed silently when she felt her body touch his, and she tucked her head underneath his chin, a whirlwind of emotions raging inside her. It wasn't supposed to feel like this.

"I thought I'd lost you," she whispered suddenly, surprising herself. She felt selfish then, because he was supposed to be confessing his fears to her, not the other way around.

He pressed a tentative kiss into her hair, feeling her strands soft against his lips. "I'm sorry I'm hurting you."

She shook her head. "It's not your fault."

He nodded in acknowledgement, waited a moment, then, "It feels like we've done this before."

"Done what?" she asked even though she knew.

"This." He paused and tightened his grip around her body, allowing himself to etch to memory exactly how he felt in that moment. "It feels like we _should've_ done this before," he emphasized.

"I never would've let you," she whispered against his chest, knowing how true that was. It was different now, easier when she knew he didn't remember everything she'd put him through. Not easier, just… more desperate. She almost laughed, thinking how masochistic she was. When he'd wanted it, she'd pushed him away, but now that his memory of her was gone, she was searching for a chance that simply wasn't there anymore. They couldn't do this.

"Why not?" he asked, and for a moment, she thought she'd accidentally verbalized her thoughts, but then she realized that he was referring to why she wouldn't have let him hold her like this. She found that she didn't know how to adequately explain her fears to him. She couldn't even explain them to herself.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her tears not to fall. She felt his heart pounding in his chest, knew that hers was doing the same. "Because," she murmured, her voice shaky, "I didn't think I could've handled everything I would've felt."

"And now?" he pressed.

She thought about that for a moment. She couldn't even put into words what she felt now, how safe and comfortable it was, thought she was far from admitting that to anyone. At the same time, she couldn't help but feel conflicted, because he wasn't supposed to be eliciting these strange emotions from her. She couldn't even remember why not, but for so long, she'd lived in the firm understanding that she just wasn't supposed to let him get to her this way, and she found the habit hard to drop. Finally, she settled for an ambiguous, "I don't know."

He pressed his chin against the top of her head. "I don't remember what we did, but what I'm feeling now," he revealed quietly, "it's so… I can't even describe it." He took a deep breath and felt it stronger than ever. He racked his brain for something, _anything_, but found only a void where he imagined his memories of this woman used to rest. "This is so unfair," he added in frustration.

She didn't reply, but suddenly found herself more tired than she'd been in weeks. Physically, she hadn't done too much, but mentally, she was exhausted, and she wasn't sure how much longer she'd be able to stay awake. She pulled away a little, trying to ignore the urge to close the distance again. "I should get back to bed," she said as resolutely as she could muster.

He held on to her tightly. "You're already in bed."

"Eric," she warned weakly.

"I can't fall asleep, Cal," he complained.

She sighed. "How does my being here help?"

"It helps," he said simply.

She sighed again and curled back up against him. "Just tonight."

He nodded. "Just tonight," he agreed, watching her until he felt her breathing even and her muscles loosen, thinking about how confusing this all was. How painful. Beautiful. Hopeful.

Friday. They just needed more Fridays.

_"Memory… is the diary that we all carry about with us."_

–_Oscar Wilde_


End file.
